


Neutral

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5899417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sins of Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neutral

Never let it be said that Dean Winchester was a man who did things in half measures.

He hated, he fought, and he sinned, harder and harsher than anyone alive. He was the personification of the juxtaposition. How any one being could be so guilty of both idolatry of self, and self loathing, should have been enough to cause some kind of self combusting nuclear reaction, able to shut off both hell and heaven and leave the world to ruin itself in peace.

That was if the universe was a place of justice, and righteousness. And clearly it was not. The world just ticked on by, as though he was insignificant, and not a ticking time bomb.

Take, for instance, his idolatry of self. No one had pushed the boundaries of the seven cardinal sins more than he had, and he was pretty sure he'd beat some boss level of blasphemy by committing all of them with an angel of the lord.

 _Lust_ , that one was a given: how he could turn weak at the knees and come apart at Cas' pleas when he was naked and prone beneath him, and even laying spent, could still want him, was one of life's finer mysteries.

 _Gluttony_? Definitely. Sure, he hungered for food, but there was no sating his hunger, his need for Cas. He would never, ever have enough of the thoughts, the feelings, the sounds of Cas.

 _Greed_? Sure. He did not play nicely with others and he would not be sharing Cas with anyone else, ever. An innocent passerby could stumble at the ice blue gaze Cas gave in passing, and they'd be sure to meet Dean's death glare in response. He does not share. Ever.

 _Sloth_. Sloth was a good one, it meant lazy days off when he could lay on his bed and have Cas worship every inch of him without even moving a muscle. On sloth days he idly wondered where the angel had learned those particular tricks with his tongue, or how to sink himself down onto Dean in one smooth movement . But he didn't wonder for long.

 _Wrath_. Woe betide anyone whoever did a thing to upset or offend Cas. Death would be too much like relief for whoever dared to try, and Dean knew a thing or two about torture.

 _Envy_. Cas couldn't help looking the way he did. It really wasn't his fault that he was this perfect mix of innocence and sex all in one perfectly formed package. And, he supposed, it wasn't anyone's fault for noticing that. But anyone's eyes who lingered a fraction of a second too long were treated to the view of a very possessive Dean slinging an arm around Cas' shoulders. Or if he was particularly riled up, he'd tilt Cas' head roughly and press a hard, hot kiss on him, searching, grinding, possessing. Not that Cas every complained about those kinds of kisses.

 _Pride_. How could Dean not have pride for the fact that someone as close to perfection as Cas was had chosen him? Maybe he wasn't one for PDA, but he sure walked down the street with a swagger and a smirk with Cas by his side. Who wouldn't?

The funny thing was that all of his sinning was completely cancelled out by his self loathing, as though one was the alkali to the other's acid and he was left, neutral, in the non-fallout. Because no one did self loathing as thoroughly as Dean Winchester.

He hated his face, and in particular his eyes. They had been red, and black, and white, as well as green, but they had never settled comfortably when he met their gaze in the mirror. How could they when he had done so much wrong in his life?

He hated his body, how it seemed built and tensed for constant battle and continual suffering. He could snap a neck in a second and snuff life in a heartbeat. He was a monster. And he was a monster that was aging; he could feel every cut and creak now.

He hated his soul. How could he have such a beautiful soul? How could it be so astounding as to catch the eye of Cas? How, when he was so rotten through and through, could it – could he – trick him like that?

He hated his emotions. He was raging hot one minute and colder than snow the next. He pushed and pulled the people he loved, and was such a mess that he could never, ever love the way he should. It's hard to do that when you hate yourself so thoroughly.

In short, Dean was a disaster waiting to happen. Which was why it was still beyond his belief that Cas had stayed. And more than that, he had stayed for him. Because he loved him. Because he thought he was worth loving.

He'd fuck this up one day, he knew he would.

But right now, he would lay half propped up on pillows and watch Cas lay on his chest mumbling kisses into his skin. He'd let himself believe, for this moment, that he could have this, that he was entitled to such contentment.

Lazily, he'd stroke his hands over Cas as though he was worshipping him, which really, he was. He'd rejoice in the way blue eyes would raise to meet his own with an accompanying smile that radiated happiness. And when Cas leaned down over him, pressing hot skin against hot skin, he'd allow himself to forget how unworthy he was.

Just for tonight.

  
  



End file.
